


Five Times The Royal Guard Almost Stopped Killian Jones From Sneaking Into the Princess Emma’s Rooms (and One Time They Actually Did)

by alchemystique



Series: Discovery [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Duckling, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 21:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2402987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemystique/pseuds/alchemystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lancelot is getting too old for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times The Royal Guard Almost Stopped Killian Jones From Sneaking Into the Princess Emma’s Rooms (and One Time They Actually Did)

**One.**

Lancelot is getting too old for this.

He's been posted at the bottom of the Princess Emma's tower for the last three nights - as Captain of the Guard, he'd been very forceful in his suggestion that the princess have a guard at all times, and despite her (rather exuberant) protests, he'd gotten his way. Its not that he has no faith in her skill as a swordsman - quite the contrary, he'd seen her disarm four of his own guards the moment the pirate ship docked in the harbor (he's going to have to work on their training, and they are _not_ going to like him when he's done with them) - no, it's not that. But there have been rumors of stirrings in Regina's little corner of the realm, rumors of plans made and strange deaths, and Lancelot is taking no chances on losing the princess again. 

So for the third night he paces below her tower, staring at the balcony (He's not a fan of the balcony, if he's being honest, never has been and never will be. There's too many blind spots, too much open space, too many people in the realm who are opportunists. He'd prefer it if there weren't any windows at all, but he knows that's not a fight he'd win.) while two more members of the Royal Guard stand sentry along the corridor outside her door. 

He's halfway through plotting out the next three weeks worth of rotations in his head when he catches the flash of black darting across the palace lawns, and his hand slides to his hip, fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. 

Percival catches his eye from his own spot further down the wall, and Lancelot shakes his head, eyes following the progress of the princess' would be assailant.

The moon is bright out tonight, hanging low in the sky, and as the blur of black cuts straight toward the princess' tower something catches the light. 

The flash of metal near the mans hip makes Lancelot groan.

 _Fucking_ pirates. He knows he's getting greys from this whole business. Snow had been very firm in her stern order that the pirates were _not_ to be killed (A mistake, if anyone asks him. No one does.) so now they're stuck with a captain with an exceedingly poor reputation being _invited to family dinners_ and given an all access pass to any and all of the castles rooms. 

The exception, as far as Lancelot is concerned, is the princess' tower, and he nods as he watches Percival nock a bolt in his bow. They won't kill the man, but a little maiming doesn't seem like it should be out of the question.

Only a moment later, as Lancelot edges out after the pirate, his eye catches movement on the balcony - a sliver of light and a breeze of filmy curtains is followed by an appearance by the princess herself.

Lancelot slinks back into the shadows. He's Captain of the Guard, sure, but he's never been one to enjoy catching the ire of Princess Emma, even before she had the potential to beat him in a swordfight. He grimaces at Percival, already waving him off, and they watch as Captain Hook reaches the bottom of the tower, hook digging into the wall as his hand grasps at the ivy growing along the side.

(He remembers specifically telling Their Stubbornesses that the ivy was a safety hazard, and they should cut it all down, but did anyone in the royal family ever actually listen to him? No. No, they never did.)

Hook scales the wall easily, flinging himself up over the rail with all the easy grace of a man who has done this sort of thing plenty of times before, and Lancelot sighs when he hears Emma's soft laugh drifting down across the castle grounds.

He's always been far too easily charmed by Princess Emma and her beguiling smiles, and this is really no different. Besides, it's not like he doesn't understand forbidden love. 

Percival shoots him an exaggerated eyeroll when he waves him off, and as they trudge back towards their posts, trying very hard to ignore the much deeper chuckle that had followed Emma's, Lancelot just shrugs his shoulders. 

**Two.**

Tonight is John's first night as a full member of the guard, and he's more than a bit nervous about it, if he's being completely honest. It's a lot of faith to put in a man, standing sentry outside the chambers of the newly returned princess, and he means to show the Captain that he's up to the task. 

His armor gleams against the torchlight, and as Grumpy gives him a firm nod at the changing of the guard, he takes up his spot against the far wall and straightens his shoulders, trying terribly hard not to grin. 

It's as exciting as it is terrifying, and John is going to prove to the naysayers that he's just as good at this as all the rest.

Only ten minutes in he realizes how very boring standing sentry is. He can hear men down the corridor playing cards, and though he desperately wants to join in, he has a _job_ to do. A very important one. One that gives no leave for things like distractions and games.

He takes instead to naming off all the knights of the realm he can think of in order of the number of commendations they've received, and manages not to be mind-numbingly bored for about an hour before he hears it.

Princess Emma, though he's never met her personally, has always been a woman of interest to him. As a young boy living in the village outside the castle grounds, he'd always heard rumors of her beauty and kindness, and he'd been there the day the Jolly Roger made port in the village - been part of the reserve guard Lancelot had brought out when word of the princess being aboard had made the rounds. 

He'd been there when the princess herself had managed to fend off four members of the guard while she demanded to see her parents, and he'd definitely been there when she'd threatened painful death on anyone who dared harm the ship or its crew.

The rumors had never prepared him for how fiercely devoted she could be, or how terrifying. 

John will do anything in the world to keep this woman safe, and happy, and here, with her family, where she belongs. 

So when he hears the muffled crash behind the mahogany doors of her chambers, instinct kicks in, and he shoves through the doors with his sword in hand, ready to fight off whatever villain might be here to harm her.

The adrenaline that had pushed him through the doors also makes his stomach plummet as he takes in the scene before him.

The princess is splayed out across a table in the middle of the room (there are jewelry boxes and a complete writing set laid out around the edges of the table, ink dribbling onto the stone floor, obviously the source of the crashing noise), and tucked in between her legs, bent low over her frame, is Captain Hook.

Now, John has spent quite a few days recently getting caught up on the goings on of the castle with the princess' return, and he is well aware that the captain is something of a royal guest, having been the one to rescue her from the clutches of the Evil Queen and return her to her family, but he's also heard plenty of other stories about the man - horrible stories about the criminal misdeeds of the pirate and his crew. And as he blinks at the pair in confusion, trying to sort out his thoughts well enough to understand, the man himself turns his gaze up to look at John, those piercing blue eyes doing nothing to make John feel any more at ease.

"Enjoying the show, lad?" 

The princess (thank the fae) is fully clothed, and though Hook's usual leather jacket seems to have found a home across one of the chairs near the door, he is otherwise clad in his usual attire, but they are far from being in an uncompromising position.

"I...heard a crash."

He can feel his face heating up as he tries to remember a single bit of his training - he doesn't think there is any training to prepare for this.

"Yes, I'd imagine you did." There is something mischievous in the gleam in the pirates eye, and John has to try very, very hard to keep his eyes away from the princess as she sits up, golden locks of hair falling around her shoulders. She really is as beautiful as they say.

"I..." He really, really wishes there had been training for this.

"It's John, isn't it?" His head snaps up to the princess as she yanks at her dressing gown, swinging her legs over the side of the table and looking for all the world as if nothing at all is awry about any of this. He nods his head as he slowly lowers the sword in his hand. "It's nice to meet you, John, but as you can see, I am neither dead, nor dying, nor in any danger at all."

John thinks that is debatable - though she's been sailing the realms with the pirate at her back (the pirate the guards below obviously let through, and if this is a test John is quite certain he is failing) for the better part of two years, and she's still in one piece. She might be _insane_ , but she's alive.

"So now that you've verified my safety, which I appreciate very much, I think the best course of action is for you to turn around, head back out that door and deal yourself in to that game of rummy going on down the hall. And at the end of your shift you can kindly inform Sir Lancelot that his services are unneeded and are causing everyone more headache than it could possibly be worth to spy on me."

John gulps as he nods his head in the affirmative, trying desperately to ignore the enamored look on the pirates face behind her shoulder. It doesn't work, and the man scowls fairly terrifyingly at John when he catches his gaze.

"Good," the princess says, and she smiles at him, a sweet, kind smile that makes John want to vomit, just a bit.

"I...yes. Yes, your highness. That sounds like an excellent idea."

He's still frozen in front of them, though, his body apparently stuck in place as they stare at him, and after a moment the pirate shifts like he means to _make_ John leave. John has heard enough stories by now to know it'd be better for all parties involved if he makes himself scarce.

"Enjoy your night!" he says on a squeak before he pivots in place and practically runs for the door.

The double doors swing closed behind him, and he leans his head against the wood for a long, silent moment where he tries to remember how to breathe, and forces himself not to be sick. Barging into the princess' rooms without real cause is enough to lose him his coveted spot, but defying the captain is just as bad an option. 

And he doesn't know if he can even get the words out without turning so red in the face he passes out.

So he resolves instead to follow Princess Emma's advice, and pushes off the door ready to start off down the hall when he hears another noise coming from inside Emma's chambers - sort of a low, whiny sounding moan -

John bolts in the direction of the other guards before he accidentally hears anything more.

 **Three**.

"Your majesty!" 

Percival darts a quick glance toward the tower balcony he's been posted at all night before returning his gaze to David, who sighs as he claps Percy on the shoulder.

"Percy, how many times must I ask you to call me David?"

"At least once more, sir, as always," is the only thing he can come up with as the sun is just starting to peak up over the horizon.

This is about the time he likes to make himself scarce - Princess Emma's nightly guest usually departs before sunrise, and today, of all days, is the day he's late leaving.

As the pirate would say - bloody hell.

It's actually ridiculous that the entirety of the guard is so afraid of Princess Emma that they've all silently been keeping her paramours nightly activities a secret from her parents - their _sovereigns_ \- for nearly a month now, but... well. He's seen Emma and Lancelot fight, and last week she'd disarmed him in what had seemed like the blink of an eye.

"I hope you've had a quiet night?"

Percival forces himself not to wince. The night itself might have been quiet - other than a pirate climbing tower walls under the watch of half the guard, it had been uneventful - but for some reason Percy doesn't want to look into the princess had forgotten to close the doors of the balcony, and whatever she and her pirate had gotten up to, she'd been...quite enthusiastic.

Percy had sent the rest of the guard off to the opposite side of the castle when they seemed more than a little interested in the various noises drifting down to them, and had whiled away the time singing sea shanties he'd heard at the tavern the other day to himself. 

"Yes, your highness. Very quiet night."

The King is silent for a while, gazing across the lawn with a lost look in his eye, and Percy can feel his own eyes being drawn towards the balcony once more.

Still no pirate.

"You know, I used to sit out here on summer nights with Snow, just after Emma was born," the man says, and Percy smiles at the man, trying to divert his attention away from the balcony. "We'd sit in the grass, watching the stars, staring up at Emma's rooms, dreaming up how marvelous her life would be."

"Sir?" The King looks a little misty-eyed, and Percival, while no enemy of men's tears, in general, is not properly trained on how to handle a kings.

The man smiles, and Percy sighs in relief. 

"I never imagined I'd spend my days watching my royal guard allow pirates to climb the ivy up to her tower," David says, and Percy coughs, eyes going wide while the king merely quirks a brow. 

"Sir?" His voice is at least an octave higher than when he'd last asked the question.

"Or why they'd feel it necessary to hide it from me. It's not as though I have any more control over my daughter than you do." He frowns, his own sky blue eyes holding steady on the curtains blowing softly in the breeze on Emma's balcony. "I was hoping to have someone to commiserate with me during this whole ordeal. Snow _likes_ the man, and Emma is as stubborn as the rest of us, and even the dwarves have taken a liking to the pirate."

Percival is quiet for a moment, before he finally sighs. "His penchant for leather is appalling, your majesty." David's face lights up on a grin, and for all that he knows he shouldn't, he continues. "He cheats at dice, and I'm fairly certain he's teaching the Queen his tricks." The King grumbles about that for a moment, and Percy lets him. "I believe he hit a man in the face yesterday for asking about the hook," he says, and he knows he's losing steam because even David doesn't look as though he believes it was unjustified. "Sir, I really would prefer not to continue if you don't wish to hear nice things about the man."

The King sighs before he waves him hand in the universal sign of 'continue'.

"It's just - well, he must love your daughter very much, to allow himself to be made an object of ridicule; for risking his life returning her here, not knowing if you'd have him hanged on the spot. They must have been very close, if he's unable to stay away from her a single night."

He winces when the full force of his words takes grasp in both their minds, but King David just nods, like these are all thoughts he's had himself. 

"Still," the man finally says, clapping a hand on Percy's shoulder just as he catches sight of a dark shadow slipping over the railing. The King, by some small miracle, chooses that exact moment to turn away, leading Percy off by the elbow. (He'll begin to suspect later that the king had seen and just wanted to give his daughter some privacy. The old softie.) "He doesn't seem to own a single pair of trousers that aren't made out of the skin of an animal. We can still mark that as a point against him."

"Absolutely, sir."

**Four.**

Dancing. They are _dancing_. In full view of the guards posted along the walls, and in full view of the rather large number of early guests taking a late night stroll through the gardens. They are _**dancing**_. 

Lancelot is far too old for any of this. 

He doesn't know why it bothers him, at this point - nothing about Princess Emma has ever been exactly normal. She'd demanded archery lessons at the ripe old age of seven, begged her father to be trained with a sword and by eleven she'd gotten her way - the woman had managed to charm an entire ships worth of pirates for a year or more, to the point most of them were now working in the castle just to stay close to the woman.

She had a way about her that had never been meant for the intricacies of royal relationships.

And they are _dancing_ , using the full span of the balcony to swing around, Emma's bright and airy laughter echoing off the walls of the castle, the two of them silhouetted against the light behind the curtains of her rooms. They are still a day away from the ball being held in her honor, and most of the surrounding kingdoms have by now heard the rumors of the circumstances of Princess Emma's return, but the lack of decorum being shown right now is...

Not a source of new frustration for Lancelot. In fact it is a very old one.

As he finally turns away from shooing off a few curious onlookers, returning to his post, he lets his thoughts drift, remembering the young girl who had demanded, in the midst of their sword practice one day, that Lancelot be taught the steps of the dance she'd been working on all week - remembering the way she'd smacked at his knees with her wooden sword until he got his stance right, remembered the way she'd shrieked with happy laughter when he'd swung her up into his arms and spun her in circles until they were both too dizzy to stand.

He can hear some of that same laughter sliding across the night sky, and for the first time since Princess Emma returned, Lancelot feels like she is finally home.

 **Five**.

John is well aware that Killian and Emma are fighting. The entire castle is _aware_ of that fact. No one has a clue what they're actually fighting about, but everyone has been avoiding them at all costs the last two days. He wonders if they'd ever been like this on the Jolly Roger, imagines how much worse it could be in such cramped quarters.

John is so annoyed he'd pulled sentry duty.

The first crash sounds a bit like a vase shattering against a wall, and John knows better than to let suspicious noises vex him, anymore. 

The second and third sound a bit like tables being knocked over, and his hand twitches toward the hilt of his sword before retreating back to it's position. They wouldn't hurt each other, that, at least, John is sure of. The furniture is less safe.

As if to prove that thought, he hears something thud against the wooden door, and notices the edge of something sharp and metallic from his side of the door. 

John is _absolutely_ not intervening if they've decided to throw weapons across the room.

Though there is definite yelling, John can't hear more than the muffled edges of words, and he merely shakes his head at the curious guard who peeks his head around the corner at the noise. They both shrug before returning to their posts.

Another clash that sounds remarkably like glass breaking, and then there is absolute, complete silence. John throws up a prayer at that, hoping against hope that they've worn themselves out and can continue this like civilized people (they're pirates, the both of them, so he doesn't hold out too much hope). The silence continues.

And continues.

The panic starts to edge in quickly, his mind coming up with a hundred different scenarios for why it's so quiet beyond the door.

Did she knock him out? Throw him off the balcony? Kill him?

He yanks open the door, narrowly avoiding getting a blade to the throat as he ducks under the cutlass wedged into the mahogany, and lets out a startled screech before he realizes what a terrible, terrible mistake he's made.

He's thankful all they have left to throw is pillows as he bolts out of the room, his face burning.

**(+1)**

"Nope," Lancelot says, grabbing a handful of leather jacket and yanking the man down. Killian has been living in the castle for more than a year now, so when Lancelot had set up rotations and placed three guards below Princess Emma's tower tonight, he'd gotten a few raised eyebrows. 

Lancelot isn't usually a fan of I told you so's, but he'll take what he can get when it comes to Killian Jones.

The man has the nerve to shoot him a petulant look over his shoulder as he dusts himself off.

"Four bloody years of letting me climb these tower walls without a word and tonight, of all nights, you're going to stop me?"

"Yep," Lancelot tells him. He's never really been much for trying to outword the word master.

"You know I could just knock you out and come back later."

Lancelot can't help the grin that slides across his face as the shackle slips into place around Jones' wrist, and he holds up the manacle around his own wrist with a delighted grin.

"What are you doing?" the man asks as his own arm bobs up with Lancelot's.

"Preventing the groom from seeing the bride before the wedding day."

"That's the most antiquated, bloody pathetic rule I've ever -."

"It's still a rule," Lancelot says, and he doesn't feel even remotely bad about the noise Jones' makes when Lancelot takes a seat, yanking at the pirates arm in the process. "Look, you can sneak up there tomorrow like some weird mating ritual all you want, but tonight, pirate, you stay put."

"Does Emma know you're doing this?" Jones' squints at him in the moonlight, looking like he knows the threat of Emma will stop this nonsense, but Lancelot just shrugs. 

"Nope."

At a stalemate, the two frown at each other for a good, long while, before the man sighs. "I don't suppose you have any cards?" He rolls his jaw when Lancelot shrugs again. "Dice?" 

"No."

Lids dips down over blue eyes as the man knocks his head backward against the stone walls. "Will you at least grab my bloody rum?"

Lancelot shows teeth as he grins at the man, who merely sighs as he finally accepts his fate. 

Four years is a long time to wait for some small victory against the pirate, but Lancelot is certain that, just this once, Emma will forgive him.


End file.
